


Ice cold, I roll my eyes at you

by doctorziegler



Series: Goretober 2016 [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Autopsies, Character Death, Consensual Violence, F/F, Gore, Guro, Medical Examination, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Needles, Paralysis, Pseudo-Necrophilia, Resurrection, Snuff, Surgery, goretober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-16 10:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8097868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorziegler/pseuds/doctorziegler
Summary: (Day One of Goretober: Medical)Amélie fulfills her lover's greatest wish: to perform an autopsy on a willing, still-living participant.





	

**Author's Note:**

> if it wasn't obvious from the tags, this DOES feature #character death, but, hey, don't forget: mercy can rez people, like. canonically. go forth and pseudo-snuff, my fellow guro junkies.
> 
> [ [twitter](https://twitter.com/heatvisions) / [nsfw twitter](https://twitter.com/DOOOMZO) ]

"You're certain?"

"For the final time," Amélie said with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, "I _want_ this. I want this _for_ you, _ma chérie_ \-- for the both of us."

Angela swallowed heavily, her hands as steady as any respected surgeon's, betraying the overpowering pounding of her heart and the nervous excitement she felt within her. "You're perfect," she breathed, near-reverent in Amélie's presence; who  _else_ would be willing to partake in such a thing, strictly because his or her lover desired it? Angela knew that, after what Talon had done to her, Amélie had little to no fear of _anything_ left within her, but this-- _this_ was another level of fearlessness entirely. "Perfect, beautiful, _and_ far too good to me."

Amélie chuckled, rolling onto her side atop the operating table and stroking icy fingers along her lover's forearms. The white sheet her nudity had been obscured beneath slipped downward, exposing Amélie's breasts, her nipples dark blue pinpricks in the incredible cold of the medical facility's pathology ward. "Now, why are you telling me all of these things which I already know?" Amélie's lips curled into an irresistible smile, yanking on Angela's wrist and forcing the other woman into an impromptu embrace, the sheet falling away completely as Amélie's arms slid atop Angela's shoulders, their mouths sliding together with years of familiarity. "As much as I _adore_ your compliments, beloved, I would prefer not to see you torment yourself further. I know how desperate you are for this; you have always been so horrible at disguising your excitement."

A pale hand trailed down Amélie's neck, between her breasts and down her stomach, Angela exploring her lover's extraordinary body for what must have been the thousandth time; Amélie was so  _breathtaking_ , tall and slender, her high ponytail and girlishly-flawless skin giving her an air of youth that time and age both seemed incapable of touching. No matter how many times she'd seen Amélie like this, Angela felt like it was the first-- _God_ , Angela loved her, loved her so _much_ , loved her--

Loved her, quite literally, to  _death_.

Another giggle reached Angela's ears as Amélie's skinny fingers encircled her forearm, stopping her exploratory touches in their track. "Do you really intend to _excite_ me, before we do this?" Angela's fingers were hovering dangerously close to the junction of Amélie's thighs, threatening to slip beneath the starchy sheet and between her lover's legs at any given moment. "I know that dead bodies may remain somewhat responsive shortly after death, but this would be taking it a _little_ far, don't you agree? Unless you intend to actually  _fuck_ me, while you do this."

Angela's entire _being_ turned red at Amélie's teasing, the doctor folding her arms across her chest defensively, as if the idea of touching her lover's 'lifeless' body in such a lewd way as she performed an-- _say it, Angela; you know exactly what you'll be doing to her_ \-- an _autopsy_ on her was too obscene a thought to even entertain. "Must you turn all things sexual?" 

Amélie laughed, and Angela found herself surprised at how expressive the woman was currently being. Was she...  _happy_ , in this moment? _Truly_ happy? "But of course I must,  _chérie_. It is part of my _charm_ , after all-- the aesthetic of the _femme fatale_."

It was Angela's turn to roll her eyes, though she found herself becoming much more relaxed as she and her lover bantered flirtatiously back and forth, as if this were little more than a typical, everyday interaction between them. "Right. To think I'd almost forgotten," Angela tapped the tip of Amélie's nose teasingly with a finger, "how _silly_ of me." At that, Amélie blew her lover a condescending kiss, obediently laying back down-- as per Angela's following request-- and remained silent while the other woman prepared herself (and her 'lifeless subject', of course) for the upcoming procedure.

A few minutes passed as Angela quieted, pulling over a tray filled with scalpels, syringes, and saws, a surgical mask obscuring the lower half of her face while her delicate hands were hugged tight by latex gloves.

"Are you ready to begin?" Now that their brief moment of playful flirting had passed, Amélie noted that Angela had slipped fully into professionalism mode, her tone of voice much more even, serious, borderline  _icy_. Angela held an intimidating-looking syringe in her hands-- not that Amélie was afraid of something as harmless as a little _needle_ , of course--, fingers hovering just above the blue-skinned woman's chin. "This injection will most likely be the only thing you'll feel, at least for quite a while."

Amélie stretched her arms above her head, loosening up her muscles one final time before returning her gaze to Angela's. "As ready as I will ever be."

With a nod, Angela moved her lover's head to the side, exposing Amélie's throat-- that slender, _beautiful_ throat, perfect for leaving love-bites and fingerprints on-- as she lowered the syringe, digging it deeply into Amélie's flesh and injecting the powerful anesthetic. Of course, an injection of that severity _stung_ ; Amélie chewed her lower lip as she let out a trembling breath she hadn't even be fully aware of holding in, risking a glance upward as Angela--  _Dr. Ziegler_ withdrew the needle and returned it to its rightful place on the nearby tray. "You should begin to feel the drug's effects presently," she explained, lifting Amélie's head up and positioning an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth, its strap nestled just beneath her ponytail. "You will be numb to _most_ pain, if not all, but you _will_ remain consciousness-- though, of course, without retaining any of your mobility."

 _A corpse_ , Amélie thinks to herself, _for all intents and purposes_. With her heartbeat slowed significantly (thanks to Talon's experiments), sedation nearly  _did_ kill her, any time she was put under, blood circulating throughout her body so sporadically that, if Angela even bothered hooking her up to any monitors, her vitals would probably imply she already _was_ dead.

But that was what Angela wanted, wasn't it? Her 'ultimate fantasy'; _what a morbid girlfriend you have, Amélie Lacroix, you fool of a romantic. She is going to **kill** you tonight, you know-- _ " _Chérie_ ," she whispered, lips already nearly too numbed to properly form the words she needed. " _Je_ \--  _je t'aime, ne pas oublier--"_ As the drug continued to drag her downward, the mutual language of English she and Angela shared abandoned her, leaving Amélie with nothing but her most basic of functions and instincts.

One of which, obviously, had been to remind Angela that she loved her.  _A ridiculous romantic, that's what you are, just like I said_ \--

"And I love _you_ , most in all the world." Angela's confession was spoken with such honesty, Amélie couldn't keep herself from smiling; this  _was_ worth it;  _would_ be worth it, to fulfill Angela's greatest wish.

Even if it killed her.

_C'est la vie, no?_

* * *

 

"Patient's name is Amélie Lacroix, Caucasian, female, aged thirty-six and originating from France. Hair: black, naturally, though it is currently dyed a blue hue; straight, nearly hip-length; eyes: amber. Distinguishing features include a mole above the patient's lip, on the left side of her face, as well as a large tattoo of a spider-- a black widow, I believe, if I'm to be more precise-- which covers an impressive portion of the patient's upper back." She refrained from commenting on Amélie's unnatural skin color, choosing to believe, instead, that she was blue because, well.

Because she was supposed to be _dead_ , and indicating otherwise would lead to an even lengthier external examination than Angela currently felt up to.

Not that she was growing  _impatient_ , or too eager to keep up professional pretenses-- she simply felt a little... _overzealous_. Yes; _that's_ what it was.

Angela clicked the recorder off for a moment, turning Amélie onto her side and placing a body block atop the table. When she returned Amélie to her previous position, the rubber brick dug uncomfortably into the sedated woman's back, elevating her so that her chest jutted outward, arms and neck dropping backwards in a way that would be extremely uncomfortable to anyone  _living_ , or, alternately, as numb as Amélie presently was. "Current time is 19:07, on October the 1st, of the year 2063. Doctor Angela Ziegler, M.D., is acting pathologist."

Now that she'd finished her standard introduction, Angela set the compact recorder down, intending to leave it running for the remainder of the autopsy-- if only for posterity's sake.

She would want to remember this  _always_ , no matter what became of their relationship once the procedure was through.

After throwing away her gloves and washing her hands, Angela pulled on a new pair, the too-familiar scent of latex reaching her nostrils as she readjusted her surgical mask. "The autopsy will now begin," Angela stated clearly, lifting a scalpel from the nearby tray and bringing it down against Amélie's right shoulder. 

Though incapable of reacting in any way, Amélie's eyes were still open, lazily following Angela's movements as the drug continued to impair her-- there was no mounting terror in her gaze, though Angela couldn't be wholly sure if that was due to the heavy sedation, or the fact that, thanks to whatever Talon had done to her in their attempt to create the perfect human weapon, Amélie no longer had any fear of death.

"We'll find out, won't we," Angela murmured to herself, sinking the scalpel into Amélie's chilled skin and beginning to carve. There weren't any comforting 'beeps' to reassure Angela that her patient-- subject?-- was still breathing, since one didn't  _need_ such precautions while performing a postmortem procedure such as thing, so both women had mutually decided against it. The oxygen mask had been a necessity, and Amélie had  _still_ attempted to dissuade Angela from using it, but the older of the two wouldn't budge. No vital monitors was one thing-- foregoing arguably the only thing that would keep Amélie alive throughout even the first ten minutes of the autopsy was  _not_ a risk Angela was willing to take, Amélie's commitment to making this as close to authentically macabre as possible be damned.

Amélie was deathly-still as Angela continued to shape the Y-like incision into her torso, shoulder to shoulder and down the sternum, eventually coming to an end at Amélie's pubic bone. Thanks to how slowly Amélie's heart beat naturally-- and the addition of the anesthetic--, the deep cuts caused little to no bleeding whatsoever, which sent a pleasant buzz throughout Angela's entire body. For all intents and purposes, this wasn't all that different from a  _true_ autopsy, especially with how cold her lover typically felt. Maybe _that_ was why she'd even agree to this wicked little experiment in the first place; perhaps coming so close to legitimate death was _exciting_ , for someone caught eternally toeing at the very edge of it.

She looked so _stunning_ like this, breathtaking, the nearly-black blood slowly seeping out of fresh incisions, thick eyelashes lowered and lips slightly parted, as if she was awaiting a kiss.

A kiss that Angela very much  _wanted_ to give her, she discovered, pulling the oxygen mask away for just a moment; for as long as it might take to satiate Angela's unexpected hunger. She leaned down hesitantly, brushing her own lips against her lover's in a way that almost seemed  _shy_ , guilty, as if her sudden burst of desire to become intimate with a woman she was pretending was a  _corpse_ was truly something to be ashamed of.

As if a woman who'd had the moniker 'Widowmaker' was going to judge her for much of anything at all.

Gloved hands brushed against the undersides of Amélie's breasts, scalpel discarded for the time being as Angela turned her attention to something that most definitely did  _not_ follow standard surgical procedure. Amélie's nipples began to slowly stiffen in the chilly air, and Angela couldn't keep herself from rubbing her thumbs against them as they did so, teasing them by stroking in semi-circles, counterclockwise, until Amélie's unnatural skin had flushed a noticeably darker shade. With a glance upward, Angela found her lover watching her through hooded eyes, Amélie's bright gaze all but boring into her as she took advantage of her lover's immobile state.

Lord in Heaven, but if Amélie didn't somehow manage to look _smug_ , even now, as if this was the opportunity to expose Angela's sinister fetishes to the world, once and for all.

"... Further examination of the subject reveals a number of body modification scars," Angela continues, as casually as possible, running a hand down the tail of the Y-incision on Amélie's abdomen, finally coming to rest atop her navel. "Pierced nipples, pierced navel, as well as insertion points for microdermal implants on the back of the subject's neck. All removed postmortem, prior to autopsy." As if  _that_ was why she'd been toying with the woman's tits, and not simply because she found this entire process more arousing than she honestly cared to admit.

She really wasn't interested in Amélie being right about her so-called 'wicked proclivities' all along, truth be told.

Angela donned a new pair of gloves, tossing the lightly-bloodied ones in the trash as she finally inserted her hands into the deep incisions she'd made in Amélie's flesh, opening her lover up like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. 

Now, for the very first time since they'd began, Angela saw _it_ appear in Amélie's eyes:  _fear_ , as the dawning of her own mortality-- and current helplessness, the trust she'd placed in Angela be damned-- truly hit her. 

Angela wondered, absently, if experiencing terror for the very first time in years was as exhilarating as it sounded. She'd have to ask, later-- for future reference, of course. 

"Now proceeding with-- with the internal examination." Angela's breath caught at the first sight of Amélie's rib cage, the pearly white bones marred with streaks of red and pink and gore; Angela knew she shouldn't have been surprised that Amélie's insides were just as beautiful as the rest of her. When the scalpel began to saw through the first of Amélie's ribs, Angela noted the shift in her lover's eyes, Amélie's gaze slowly moving from side to side as if she were in a panic the drugs simply wouldn't allow her to express. Under any other circumstances, Angela would have comforted her, but-- they'd decided on this  _months_ ago, and Angela knew the other woman would be furious if she broke character now, just because Amélie had looked a little frightened; distressed.

Who  _wouldn't_ experience such a reaction, though, upon seeing their ribs cut into, cut apart, one by one, from their cracked-open chest cavity? 

With painstaking carefulness, Angela removed Amélie's sternum and the attached ribs, noting the flutter in her lover's heart the moment it was exposed to open air. "Subject's chest plate has been successfully detached, and has now been put aside," Angela said through an exhale, surprised at how steady her hands were despite the heavy pounding of her own heart. "Beginning examination and subsequent extraction of the internal organs."

For the very first time since the autopsy had began, Angela heard Amélie's breath catch;  _saw_ her lungs contract, in the open air, a distressed physical reaction that the heavy sedation wasn't nearly strong enough to mask. How much longer could she keep this up, Angela wondered? Amélie's body wasn't normal, not by any means, but-- how much could  _any_ body take under circumstances such as these, regardless of external enhancements? Angela thought of Gabriel, of how much she'd done to  _him_ , years ago, after the fallout in Switzerland-- he'd taken more than any one man ought to have been able to withstand, but Angela thought him no more resilient than her beloved Amélie.

If he could handle Angela's experiments and come through-- at least for the most part, damaged psyche aside-- unscathed, then  _she_ could, too.

"You're doing so well, sweet girl," the blonde murmured affectionately, hands encircling organ by organ, bit by bit as Amélie was dismantled, disemboweled before Angela's very eyes. "Only a _little_ longer; a little more, and then it'll all be over, I promise."

Angela glanced at the clock; not even half an hour had passed since she'd sedated Amélie and already the woman was in pieces, her organs displayed beautifully atop a nearby tray. There was blood and guts smeared on Angela's surgical mask from when she squeezed a kidney just a  _little_ too tightly on the way out. She'd laughed, when it happened, the sound borderline-hysterical; Angela  _felt_ hysterical, now, strangely enough, with Amélie's nearly emptied torso gaping up at her. 

She slid the oxygen mask off of Amélie's face-- there was no longer any need for it, not when Amélie was clinging to life by her fingernails, breath coming out in barely-there gasps and heart pounding so infrequently that Angela might have thought her already dead, if she weren't so familiar with the sound. "Almost, my love," Angela soothed, sinking her hands to the wrist into Amélie's chilled body, a shudder running through her at the sticky-wet sounds she made with every inch inserted deeper and deeper still. "We're _almost_ done." This felt--  _God_ , this felt erotic, and Angela couldn't believe how aroused she'd gotten, just from this, from being  _allowed_ this. Amélie's consent to this was what made it so sweet, so  _exciting_ ; Angela was going to fuck her  _mute_ when they were through with this part of the game, and, maybe, the other woman would even allow it to happen right here, right on the very table she'd been torn apart on. Angela squeezed her thighs together tightly, accidentally smearing gore on her pristine lab coat and skirt alike as she dug the heel of her palm into her sex, a halfhearted attempt at relieving at least a little of the overwhelming pressure gathered there.

Of course, that meant she'd gotten  _Amélie_ on her clothing, had just rubbed literal guts onto the fabric of her underwear and now her gloves were slick with more than just her lover's blood--  _ **when** did I become so depraved, and how is it that you knew?_

Without bothering to grab a new pair of gloves, Angela clasped her hands around Amélie's barely-beating heart, relishing the once in a lifetime opportunity for only a moment before beginning the painstaking process of severing the neighboring arteries so the heart itself could rejoin its fellow organs outside of its host's body.

Angela knew the moment of truth was finally on its way, her eyes traveling to her staff, leaning precariously against the table's edge, as it had been since they'd entered into the operating room. Once Amélie's heart was pulled from her chest, she  _would_ die, as they'd both known this entire time-- that was when Angela would drag her lover back into the land of the living, and, hopefully, she'd come back...  _normal_.

She hadn't done this sort of thing since the incident with  _Gabriel_ , and-- well. 

Everyone knew how well  _that_ had worked out.

So long as Amélie didn't return from the dead as an inconsistently-evaporating shadow-beast with a soul-sucking addiction, Angela would chalk this up to a win.

With a final  _tug_ , Amélie's heart finally came free from its constricting confines, beating its last as it left the woman's body in exchange for a stale, sterile tabletop. It sat prettily between Amélie's lungs and liver, framed by the organs Angela had extracted previously-- a macabre flower arrangement of bright and dark reds, deep maroons and pale pinks and Angela couldn't think of anything she'd ever seen having been so simplistically  _beautiful_ before. She would  _never_ forget these, not for as long as she lived; this was Amélie's gift to her, a one of a kind blessing that she-- that  _no one_ deserved, too cruel, too twisted, and yet-- 

Yet here she was, eyes swelling up with tears as she stroked her fingertips across each and every curve of her lover's dying body, memorizing the soon-to-be cadaver, the dulling look in Amélie's fluttering, fear-stricken eyes, her paling lips; her carved-into chest cavity, now wholly devoid of its contents, leaving Amélie a ghost of the person she'd been only an hour before.

A ghost; she was _Angela's_ ghost, a ghost of her lover's own making. Angela let out an uneven breath, reaching for her Caduceus staff and beginning to count the seconds as they ticked by:

 _(One_.) Amélie's body twitched violently, nearly knocking her off the body block still supporting her.

 _(Two_.) Angela's brow furrowed.

 _(Three_.) She knew that this would be the most difficult part, for the both of them.

 _(Four_.) Dying _hurt_ , and the body would _always_ fight, would _always_ struggle for its own survival, no matter the circumstances.

 _(Five_.) Amélie sucked in a sharp breath as she choked, gasped, fought for air that simply wouldn't come, no matter how she tried; there was no lungs left to supply her with air, nor a heart to circulate the blood necessary to do much of  _anything_.

 _(Six_.) Amélie's death rattle was something Angela knew she would never, _ever_ forget; a sound that would haunt her dreams and nightmares both, until the day  _she_ died.

Six seconds was the window within which Angela was capable of bringing someone back from the dead, and so she did; Amélie died, but for only a moment before Angela hoisted the Caduceus staff above her head, bathing the entire room in a warm, golden light as the would-be irreparable damage done to Amélie's body was miraculously healed.

As life itself came rushing back to her, extracted organs mysteriously vanishing from Angela's tableau, Amélie _screamed_ , screamed and screamed and screamed, the sound unlike anything Angela had ever heard before.

A beautiful, unforgettable sound, for a beautiful, unforgettable experience, one that Angela had waited an entire lifetime for;  _Amélie_ _Lacroix_ was a beautiful, one-of-a-kind woman, and Angela Ziegler wondered, not for the first time, how she'd ever gotten so lucky in love.

Miracles _did_ happen, sometimes, she supposed.

For a price.

[FIN]


End file.
